


The Aftermath

by Ludwigsgirl97



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:29:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ludwigsgirl97/pseuds/Ludwigsgirl97
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alistair takes the final blow, The Warden is left alone, with a world of eyes watching her, waiting to be saved. One pair, however, is waiting to save her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

She stood, looking out from the balcony to the people assembled, the cheering, seething mob of the ignorant and the uncaring. She was enraged, but she faked a smile. They all wanted the briefest glimpse of her sharp features, fiery hair, moss green eyes, or pointed ears, suddenly not finding them as revolting as they had before. Her blood boiled, wanting to shout at them, to take out her blades and scream that they were cheering when they should be crying. Alistair had died defending them, the man who'd they nearly made their king. Who had slain the archdemon, the real hero here. She was just someone who had failed to stop him. Hell, she'd been knocked out when the damn thing had been killed and they called her their savior. The man she loved was being burned, sent to the maker, so they said, because few knew that when one felled an archdemon they lost their soul as well. Their king and her lover was dead and they couldn't bring themselves to mourn for more than an hour or so, if even that. If only she could cut a few of them down to see if they then found death to be so trivial.  
But she was an arlessa now, the first of the elven blood, and she had a people who looked up to her, and a race that expected her to drag them from the mud they had left themselves in for far too long. She still couldn't take time for herself even to grieve, even after she'd given up everything to stop the blight. It seemed that the world would never cease being a damsel in distress. They needed her voice, now, more than her blades, but they needed her regardless. They looked at her with near blasphemous eyes, as if she were their maker, and she had to smile back and talk of bright futures and new beginnings even as her heart grew darker with loss than the taint could ever have hoped to accomplish, her mind fixated on the end.

  
That night, she went to her father, the door creaking open. He looked at her with joy, happy to have his daughter, pride beaming from him, until she ran to him, collapsing in his arms. Her cousin watched her fall apart, confused. She had always been the strong one, but now she wasn't even able to stand up. A castle of trained soldiers, an army of monsters, and everything in between, she'd faced with a cocky smirk, but now she was broken. And Shianni had no idea what to do, so she just watched from the corner.

  
“It's not fair!” She howled, his chest strong, but not the broad, almost too warm flesh that she wanted. She sobbed, tears staining his tunic, “I loved him, and they won't even give me one day to grieve. I'm supposed to bask in their attention and get straight to saving the world again, when no one even remembers who really saved them. I should have told Duncan no...I should have stayed. The noose would have been better than this.”

  
“You don't mean that...” Cyrion said, wishing that it were true and he pushed her to arms length and looked into dull, dead eyes. Her body was slumped, seeming half the size she normally did. Small and weak, words that hadn't described her since she had learned to walk.  
“Why didn't he listen? That selfish bastard! It was supposed to be me...I said it would be me.” His soft, sad smile as he told her she didn't have a choice.

  
“Cousin...” Shianna was scared now. This wasn't just passing grief, it was crippling. She was being crushed, when she'd so easily held the weight of the world before. She remembered when they'd come to the alienage only a week before. She'd seemed bright, happier than she'd ever been, and the tall human had stayed close, even taking a blade for her in the battle against the magisters. It was now she realized that the weight of the world had been shared between them, and without him, she would soon be flattened if something didn't help.

  
“I'm going for a walk. I'll be back.” She said, her fake smile coming to her face, worse acting than she'd ever done, and walked from the door. None of them knew how to stop her.  
  
Zevran sat on a barstool in the Gnawed Noble tavern, drinking down the “best that Ferelden had to offer” which was apparently the piss of their beloved dogs, because it didn't taste like any ale he'd ever had. When she came in, she wasn't wearing her drakeskin armor, the trademark she'd come to be known for, along with the qunari who wore dragonbone. Her hair was down, and a cloak was over it anyway, and no one but him seemed to recognize her. She gestured back to the rooms, and he nodded, paying the barkeep and heading back with her.

  
“I've got a mark for you, if you'd like one last job.” She said, her voice shaky as he walked in, closing the door behind him. When she took the cloak off, she looked even more ragged than she had before. Her eyes had dark circles under them, and her skin was sickly pale. He stood as she sat down on the bed, pulling a small scroll from her cloak.

  
“Is it Anora? I've wanted to put a knife in her back from the moment we met her. Doesn't even deserve the trouble of poison.” he asked, hoping that it was. She'd taken advantage of Alistair's death to pretend that he never existed, and even if the warden had taken the woman he loved, they were friends, and to be fair, he'd have picked Alistair over himself as well.

  
“No,” She answered, a pained chuckle puffing from her lips, sounding more like a last breath than a sound of enjoyment. “I want you to kill me. Cut my neck and give it to the Crows to get them off your back.”

  
“You're mad!” he responded, his first thought being that he'd heard it wrong, his second being that he hoped this was some cruel practical jokes, and his third, the one expressed, being anger.

  
“Please...”She whimpered, a tear falling down her left cheek as she looked up at him, pleading, “I can't do it myself. I should have died, not Alistair. Make it right. Don't make me live like this, lonely and afraid.”

  
“I can't.” He told her, sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder. His embrace was stronger than her father's, but his stature was still far too small. “You wouldn't have been able to do it for Alistair, and I love you as you love him. One day, the taint will call you, and we'll go to the deep roads together, but until then, you will live. I can't let it be otherwise.” She smelled different, fainter and more bitter than she had in their one night together. She had taken to rare drinking after Alistair shouting at her after the incident in Redcliffe, unable to accept that blood magic had been helpful. She'd told him it was a mistake, and apologized, spending the next few weeks grovelling for her true lover, until he forgave her. He had thought that it was better than nothing, that pleasure should be taken where it could be found and that this was one of the best nights he'd had in a long, long time, until he'd started aching for her, finding fondness where none should have shone. And then he'd realized it was love, when he killed his best friend, blacking out with rage when he'd done nothing more than kicked her.

  
“Please, Zevran. You're a killer, so do your damn job. I have enough money for you to buy your own city, for just one bloody mark.” She punched his chest, not having near the force it should have.

  
“It's thirty years, if your lucky. Would it be so horrible to spend it with your family...with me?” He laid her down next to him, stroking his hand along her cheek, kissing her forehead but going no farther. “You would die for his memory, do you really not see why I would fight the Crows and all of Thedas if it were what was needed to keep you?” She said nothing, exhaustion taking hold as she fell asleep, twenty years of age going with her consciousness. He knew that it would take ages for her to love him, if she did at all, and never as much as she had loved Alistair, but he couldn't fulfill her wish. He'd never been known for altruism.  
  
“Zev! Catch Cyria and dress her. We can't have a future arlessa running about in her smalls!” She shouted, trying to do that but being outsmarted by her aging hound and aging hips. He protected the five year old more than it's “mistress”, though it had never much cared for her two older brothers, Alistair and Legili.

  
“She's three feet tall! How hard can it be?” He called, jogging in, only to be tackled by the massive war dog. With him out of the way, she snatched up the child, a servant bringing her a dress which was quickly thrown on the girl.

  
“It's that damn dog, not her. And you, young lady, will keep this on or I'll never let you see the light of day again, understood?” She panted, setting the child down after she promised as she always did to do so.

  
“She has her mother's spirit, as well as your nose.” Zevran said, shoving the dog off of himself and going to stand next to her.  
“I never ran around bloody naked!”

  
“No, you just killed arls and generally evaded authority. You've left the burden of servitude and so she has to rebel in different ways. I personally think this is less dangerous.” He laughed, kissing her on the cheek.

  
“At any rate, I think it's time we head off to bed. Nan will look after the children.” She hissed, the bad knee she'd gotten in a duel with a prejudice noble was acting up, and she was left limping about most days. Age was getting to her, having been creeping up for some time now, in spite of her elven blood. She should have had twice the time to live before she felt like an invalid.  
  
That night, he held her in his arms, in awe as he always was. He always woke later than she, because he often spent an hour staring at her sleeping form. It had taken ten years, but she'd finally agreed to allow him to court her, and two years later they were married. Fear of the taint left them careful in the start, but when their miracle accident had come along, white hair and tan skin and his mother's nose, they had decided that there was nothing to worry about. Only now, she started moving, her face scrunching up in her dreams. She often had nightmares, but this was different. He hadn't seen these in three decades. She was breathing heavily, moving as though she were wielding her blade and parrying blows, jumping away from an unseen attacker. Those were the dreams she'd had in the blight, in their camp where he saw them on clear nights when she'd drift off beneath the stars. And them being back meant only one thing.

  
She woke gasping, and found him holding her crushingly tight, and crying because she knew full well what to mean too. She knew that the death she'd longed for so long ago would finally be hers when she didn't want it. She had children who needed a mother, a people who needed their arlessa, and a husband who she loved. She would have to send a fourteen year old boy in her place, hoping that he would be accepted better than she had.

  
“I've got so much left to do, Zev.” She said, not telling him, trusting that he would just know. He sighed, knowing that he couldn't join her as he'd planned. They had children, after all, and it would be hard to have them lose their father and mother in one fell swoop.

  
“You've already done more than enough.” He told her, figuring that if she had to go, at least she could go in peace. The last thing he wanted was for her to end up an enraged spirit, roaming the deep roads and slaying darkspawn without rest.

  
“They all count on me. Anora gets advice from me, the landsmeet listens to me, because they think that I can solve everything. And what about our children? They'll lose a mother to a monster they've never seen.”

  
“And know that you're the reason they've never seen it. You grew up fine without your mother, and they'll remember you. They'll have stories of you that will be sung by the bards to their children's children, and they'll be given respect because of your blood in their veins. You can't fix everything, Love, but you've fixed more than your share. People will ask themselves 'what would Kaillan do in this situation' and little girls will dye their hair red and play games about you, including paper elf ears that will inflame their parents but leave them infinitely more tolerant.”

  
“I'm scared, though. Dying hurts.”

  
“I know you are. But it will be over quickly. And you can wait for me at the gates to the golden city, and argue with the Maker when he won't let me in.” He laughed, hoping she would too.  
“I love you Zevran.” She said, twisting to kiss him. “I'm sorry that I've made you live in so many shadows. Alistair's, my father's, the taint's...I couldn't ask for more.”

  
“You still love him, don't you?” He had to know before she left. He couldn't be left now knowing.  
“No.” She smiled, and it was honest, rare but beautiful. “It took years and years, but I think I stopped loving him the day I saw our son for the first time.”

  
“That means more than you could ever know. But enough talk of death! I'm going to remind you what it's like to feel alive.” He purred, licking her neck, knowing how sensitive it was.  
“Zev...” She moaned, knowing exactly where this was going. A large hand cupped her bare breast, and she arched into the touch. He laughed low in his throat as his other hand moved farther down, caressing the lips of her core, the mess from their before-bed romp still present. It took little preparation before he was able to have three fingers inside of her, his tongue on her mouth, matching thrust for thrust as she writhed in pleasure.

  
Warmth filled her as she ground against his hand, breathing hard through her nose as he refused to disconnect his mouth from hers. She could feel his erection pressing against her ass, and she knew she was rocking back against it with every thrust of her hips. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling lightly, and making him growl. He liked it, she knew, accustomed to pain and pleasure being much the same in many situations. Without warning, he pulled away from her, only his eyes keeping contact as he moved them so that he was on top, and she was laying flat on her back.  
“Please, Zevran.” She mewled, wrapping her legs around his hips, and trying to pull him closer, ignoring the slight pinch of pain in her knee. He didn't tease her, but he didn't go hard, either. In a slow, smooth thrust he entered her, biting his lip even after all this time at the tight heat that enveloped his cock. He sucked on her neck, leaving a couple dozen love bites, not seeing a reason not to since she would be heading out the next day to die. He made them dark enough that he hoped she would have them with her until the end, a reminder of how much he loved her.  
He started slowly, almost painfully so, his hands holding her hips down so she couldn't force a faster pace. He sped up, gradual and teasing, event though he really wanted it rough as much as she did. This wasn't about getting off, this was the last time they would be together, and it would be making love, if it make his dick fall off. Finally, lust took over, and he began pounding into her, balls slapping against her, both of them panting and moaning and whispering breathless affections.  
“Zevran, I'm...I'm gonna...” She managed, not able to make a full sentence, though he already knew that she was close by the way her walls tightened around him. He kissed her, their breath shared, until she arched off the bed, he head thrown back in Ecstasy as she came, her spasming body sending him along with her. They both fell to the sheets, drifting back to sleep,not even bothering to remove his softening dick.

  
  
The gate to the deep looked bigger than she remembered, and her armor and weapons heavier. They buzzed with magic that a now grown Sandal had restored, and even made stronger as he looked at her sadly. She remember being faster, and she couldn't recall running out of energy quite so quickly, or her bones aching so much. Age had settled in, and she'd let it, not training, and letting luxury make her complacent.  
She missed having Morrigan to her rear, burning or freezing or otherwise eliminating the foes she missed. Sten rushing through the line to the enemy mages, cutting them down before they could utter a spell, and her hound snapping into the archers.  
When she stopped to rest, she patched up a gash on her thigh, missing Wynne's healing magic, and how it had instantly restored her to working condition. When it grew cold, she missed Alistair's warmth beside her, and more so, Zevran's uncanny heat, like a walking fire. She missed Leliana's songs and Oghren's stories when she couldn't sleep, and her watchful golem when she finally could. The ambush left her on the defensive, and when she felt a blade in her heart, she remembered her children, all crying and begging her not to go. Her cousin, pretending to be strong, though her eyes waited for yet another miraculous return.

  
She remembered her mother, who's voice she thought she had forgotten until she heard it, calling her home.


End file.
